‘Thank you.’ Then Merlin turned back to the Prince. ‘I hope you won’t be alone again. I’ll leave the immersion suits behind, and a few spares. But even when Teal and Struxer and Baskin can’t be with you, you don’t have to be without companionship.’ He dipped his head at the ranged formations. ‘There are two other boys who used to enjoy games like this, but like you their hearts were always elsewhere. They could come here, if you like. I think you’d get on well.’
Doubt flickered across Teal’s brow. He nodded at her, begging her to trust him.
‘They could come,’ the boy said, doubtfully. ‘I suppose.’
‘Merlin,’ Teal said.
‘Yes?’
‘I’m not sure if we’ll see each other again, after you’ve left this place. And I know it isn’t going to be safe out there, whatever sort of ceasefire we end up with. But I want you to know two things.’
‘Go on.’
‘I’m glad you saved me, Merlin. If I never showed my gratitude until now ...’
‘It wasn’t needed. The war took too much from both of us, Teal. There was nothing else that had to be said. You’ll do all right here, I know it. Maybe I’ll drop back.’
‘You know you won’t,’ Teal said. ‘Just as you’ll never go back to Plenitude.’
‘And the other thing?’
‘Take your ship, take your syrinx, and find your gun. For me. For your mother, your brother, for all the dead of Plenitude, for all the dead of the Shrike, for all who died here. You owe it to all of us, Merlin.’
He made to speak, but between one moment and the next he decided that words were superfluous. They met eyes for one last time, and an acknowledgement passed between them, a recognition of obligations met, duties faced, of good and bold hopes for better times.
Then he dropped out of the sensorium.
He was through into Tyrant in a matter of seconds. ‘Get us out of here,’ he said. ‘Suspend all load ceilings. If I break a few bones, they’ll just have to heal.’
‘Complying,’ Tyrant said.
Merlin’s little dark ship was bruised and lame, but the acceleration still came hard and sudden, and he came very close to regretting that off-hand remark about his bones.
‘When you have a chance,’ he said, ‘transfer Gallinule’s sensorium through to the Iron Tactician. All of it – the whole of the Palace of Eternal Dusk.’
‘While keeping a copy here, you mean?’
‘No,’ Merlin said. ‘Delete it. Everything. If I ever need to walk those corridors again, or watch my mother looking sad, I’ll just have to go back to Mundar.’
‘That seems... extreme.’
‘Tell that to Teal. She’s made more of a sacrifice than I’ll ever know.’
Tyrant punched its way through the thinning debris cloud. Merlin studied the navigation consoles, watching with a fascinated distraction as the ship computed various course options, testing each against the last, until it found what promised to be a safe passage to ...
‘No,’ Merlin said. ‘Not the Waynet. Not until we’ve gone back to Havergal and claimed that syrinx.’
‘Did you not study the data, Merlin? I looked at it closely, after your inspection of the syrinx.’
‘It’s real.’
‘Real, but damaged beyond safe use. More risky to use than the syrinx you already have. I’d have mentioned it sooner, but...’
‘What do you mean, damaged?’
‘Probably before Pardalote ever sold it on, Merlin. I doubt there was any intention to deceive. It’s just that a broken syrinx is very hard to distinguish from a fully functioning one. Unless you’ve had quite a lot of experience in the matter.’
‘And you kept that from me?’
‘I was curious, Merlin. As were you. Another artificial intelligence. I thought we might at least see what this Iron Tactician was all about.’
Merlin nodded sagely. Occasionally he reached a point where he felt that little was capable of surprising him. But always the universe had something in store to jolt him out of that complacency. ‘While we’re on the subject, then. That little stunt you pulled back there, when I tried to shoot Struxer with the gamma-cannon...’
‘You’d have come to regret that action, Merlin. I merely spared you endless years of racking remorse and guilt.’
‘By contravening a direct order.’
‘Which was foolish and unnecessary and born entirely out of spite. Besides, I was the damaged party, not you.’
Merlin brooded. ‘I didn’t know you had it in you.’
‘Then we’ve both learned something new of each other, haven’t we?’
He smiled – it was the only possible reaction. ‘But let’s not make too much of a habit of it, shall we?’
‘On that,’ Tyrant said, ‘I think we find ourselves in excellent agreement.’
He felt the steering jets cut in, rougher than usual, and he thought about the damage that needed repairing, and the difficult days ahead. Never mind, though. Before he worried about those complications, he had a few small prayers to ask of his old, battered syrinx.
He hoped they would be answered.
About the Author
Alastair Reynolds was born in 1966 and has been writing science fiction full time since 2004, after leaving his career in space science. He has written fifteen solo novels, plus a collaboration with Stephen Baxter, and more than sixty short stories. He has been writing stories about the far future space traveller Merlin for nearly twenty years, of which “The Iron Tactician” is the latest.
Born in Wales, he has lived in Cornwall, Northumberland, Scotland and the Netherlands. He and his wife returned to Wales in 2008, where they live today surrounded by birds, trees and hills.
Selected Bibliography:
Revelation Space
1. Revelation Space (2000)
2. Chasm City (2001)
3. Redemption Ark (2002)
4. Diamond Dogs, Turquoise Days (2003)
4. Absolution Gap (2003)
5. The Prefect (2007)
Poseidon’s Children
1. Blue Remembered Earth (2012)
2. On the Steel Breeze (2013)
3. Poseidon’s Wake (2015)
Medusa Chronicles (with Stephen Baxter)
The Medusa Chronicles (2016)
Other Novels
Century Rain (2004)
Pushing Ice (2005)
House of Suns (2008)
Terminal World (2010)
Revenger (2016)
Collections:
Diamond Dogs, Turquoise Days (2002)
(Revelation Space Universe)
Zima Blue and Other Stories (2006)
Galactic North (2006) (Revelation Space Universe)
Thousandth Night and Minla’s Flowers (2009)
Deep Navigation (2010)
Beyond the Aquila Rift: The Best of Alastair Reynolds (2016)
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A tense drama set in the depths of space. Aboard a ship that has travelled beyond the reach of human knowledge, Corbyn discovers he may not be as alone as he ought to be
An intense hard SF novella from Simon Morden (B.Sc. Hons., Sheffield, Ph.D, Newcastle), a bona fide rocket scientist with degrees in geology and planetary geophysics who also writes science fiction. Author of a dozen novels and collections, Simon won the 2012 Philip K. Dick Award. At The Speed of Light is one of his finest works to date.
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Anne Charnock – The Enclave
A new tale set in the same milieu as the author’s debut novel “A Calculated Life”, which was shortlisted for the 2013 Philip K. Dick Award.
In a starkly plausible 21st century Britain where corporate interests hold sway and genetically engineered simulants provide vital services at a cost, the Enclave may be the last remaining bastion
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Neil Williamson – The Memoirist
In a future shaped by omnipresent surveillance, why are so many powerful people determined to wipe the last gig by a faded rock star from the annals of history? What are they so afraid of?
When Fizz is hired to write the memoirs of Elodie Barthelme, former singer with electro-rock band The HitMEBritneys, she has no idea the dangerous path she is treading...
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Alastair Reynolds, The Iron Tactician
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